From Danny @ Ocean Spirits

I stumbled upon Danny's blog and added a link on my site 'cause if you are into cetaceans like I am, this is an awesome blog - simple, beautiful and meaningful. I swiped this site today... Very Cool!

Who Knew??!!

Well duh!! So you get a bunch of Jamaicans and you film them dancing - the symmetry is just corollary to the issue and the sexual issue is a no-brainer. Wouldn't it be nice if this was also a predictor of desirability as a mate (ability to provide, fidelity, handiness...)??

Anonymous Face

Recent ether-flirtation confirms a suspicion I have had, and written about in this blog, that there is something a tad too independent, intimidating or just plain weird about me that prohibits or inhibits folks with regard to approaching me. Needless to say, there is the little frisson of mystery which infects us all when attempting to seduce our chosen from a place of anonymity. Very intriguing indeed. However for me, where the rubber doesn't meet the road is when the solicitation goes no further.

Not a complaint - I do enjoy my little frissons - so keep it coming Anonymouses and Pats.

Loathe to do IT!!!!

Inventory - 30,000+ parts in an open dirty warehouse that hasn't changed since 1976..... Ach! We all have things, whether work or personal, that we simple can't stand to do. I'm not suggesting procrastination in the common parlance, but mind-bending loathing. Some of the underlying revulsion may stem from fear, natural disinclination, or rebellion; however in this instance it has much to do with the trend toward entropy of the universe in general. As I meticulously categorize, label and slot, so do the forces that surround me here wantonly misplace, un-kit and disperse. Not to mention the abandon with which the spiders fling silk into every crevice and nook, secreting egg sacs a-plenty and leaving husks of insects at every turn. For a mere few days, my little beauties - gaskets, valves, gauges and o-rings - will revel in their pristine, Dewey-like order dreading the inevitable disarrangment that flows in the wake of my co-workers. I will howl and bark, threaten and cajole, but all to no avail. The evil disruptive forces of nature will mock me as they play havoc.

Bwahahahahahahaha...........

Bee-Ware!!

These kinds of studies are remarkable... for many reasons, and each time I run across one I feel jubilant. Small steps to the realization that we, as humans, are not the penultimate and that intelligence takes so many different forms. I wonder what would have happened if they asked the bees to remember species of flowers, or hive mates? Why test them with a medium/subject matter that has little if any relevance in their little bee world?

We are not superior. When will we understand that evolution is not a process of hierarchy, merely an educated guess and reaction to environmental stimuli?

Runnin' on 5

6 cylinders, 3 cylinders, 5 cylinders... Hey! the damn thing runs. However, (and it is jinx to write this) I do believe the Goose is singing its Swan Song. 11 years, 2 countries, 192,000 miles and a pantload of fun stories later I still don't want to give it up. The plan has been to keep the Goose running well enough to get me back and forth to work and around town, to buy another fun car for weekend and travel use.

I hate car problems...

A Rip-Snorter.....

This is my "horror"-scope for today: (obviously I read this for the comedic content)

"Daily extended (by Astrology.com)You're bringing even more of your patented intensity to every arena of your life at the moment, particularly in the realm of romance. Whatever you've got going on now -- a long-term romance, a fresh and hot new affair, even a couple of potential candidates -- you can expect things to heat up suddenly to a boil. Get out the oven mitts -- you'll be eager to pull the lid off , 'cause it's likely to be burning hot. - "


hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahhohohohohohohohohohohohho
guffawguffawguffaw heeheeheeheeheeheehee...
oooooooooooo, i think i hurt myself...

It Just Don't Pay

Go ahead, bite that hand! Look in that mouth! Small things are cause enough for me to draw back into my skin, my mantle, my psychic cloak. As much as I want to connect with new folks, extend the welcoming handshake of my experience, knowledge and empathy; more often than not I draw back a mangled stub of good will. What is it that compels us to lash out - the transference of guilt, of shame, of embarrassment, of our own pain - to minimize those who show the most compassion, who empathize with no reserve?

Perhaps I am too thin-skinned, too sensitive, too impetuous.

But, I like who I am. Someone, someday will like this me too.

Chompers minus 1

My birthday wish came true (no thanks to any of you who got my solicitation). I would have done it anyway, but wanted to see how much my nearest and dearest care for my dental health - apparently very little. Regardless, I am now the proud owner of three beautiful new tooths. There were supposed to be four, but as the first one was being set, lovely Dr. Tom went a bit medieval on my veneer and cracked it smack down the middle. We hastily and glumly moved on to the big appliance but much of the wind had been sucked brutally from our sails. The delightful new porcelains were clamped over my stubs and flashed firmly into place after which ensued much polishing, grinding, shaping, polishing, assessing, grinding, grimacing, polishing...et Voila!

My dental hopes were dashed on the cruel and jagged rocks of mishap, however, all will be well with two more visits, two more nerve deadening sticks and one more carefully applied veneer. With any luck at all, I will be able to post picks before X-mas.

Making the Grade

Sittin' here in Kinko's/FedEx hoping that the print run of our marketing project paper comes out just how I want it. Almost makes me want to invest in a color laser printer so I can have complete control over the publishing process... Right, complete control! Who knows if this counter dude is grocking what I want, 'cause I know my requests are so vastly different and superior to anything he has ever encountered that I am challenging his little cranium (do I smell smoke? do I hear gears grinding??). Of course, my personal investment in this project is significant - my idea, my logo work, my editorializing - not to mention the buy-in of my fellow cohort members. We are all reaching exhaustion as this semester seems just to be revving up. The Sunday meetings, the individual time commitment, the intersection and juxtaposition of two master's classes, one an exercise in right-brain creativity while the other balancing on the opposite end of the see-saw jangling the mathy left-brain.

Yup, using ALL the brain this time around.

Happy B-Day to Me!!!

Another birthday come and gone. Very anti-climactic this year as it was overshadowed by Grandma's 80th on the following day. We all need our moment in the sun, and G-ma had a good one this year. She is basically healthy, happy and unperturbed by the tribulations of many her age. She didn't cry or fart or take her teeth out. She was witty and compelling, one of her true gifts being that of public speaking. I was glad to sit next to her and bask in the glowing compliments from her geriatric peers ("Just SO pretty"... Hmph, an intellect like mine cringes to be "pretty"). Nonetheless, a good time was had by all and it was nice to have something to keep me from dwelling on my own aging.

My New Ball

This is my new office chair. When my former chair was whisked away and given to my brother, this is what I insisted on. I've been using it for a couple of weeks and it is definitely making a difference - back muscles are sore and I spend much less time skulking around in my chair and surfing. It's also fun to bounce on in moments of frivolity.

Stage 2

Stage 1 & 2 of Project Incisors complete. (I didn't even report on Stage 1 (whitening) as it is so unremarkable other than the intense teeth sensitivity. But now I've pearly whites).

Yesterday found me reclining the afternoon away in the capable hands of Dr. Tom, dentist extraordinaire. The whitening took my natural teeth to brightest white and it was time for the offending 20-yr old bridge to meet its demise 'neath the spinning burr. Mouth parts fully loaded and charged with Speticaine, I drooled and gagged my way through 2+ hours of removal, impressions, grinding, scraping and packing. Am now sporting a brand new set of temps, little acrylic indicators of the monumental porcelains to come.

Upon reflecting, literally, I wonder whose mouth this is? (making chopping motions on the arm) How did I deserve these teeth? How will I be served by these teeth??

WEIRD! Probably one of the weirder happenings of my past 20 years.

Stay tuned for Stage 3 (and pics!)

Reluctant Bodhisattva

Someone much wiser about these things than I once told me I was "bodhisattva" - "...Bodhisattva practices not for her or his enlightenment alone, but for the enlightenment of all beings. The Bodhisattva vows to remain in this world of ignorance and confusion, vows to be willing to experience whatever living beings experience, until all beings are liberated."

I wasn't particularly convinced at the time because I never viewed myself as compassionate or truly altruistic. Lately I have put those "bodhi" thoughts into the hopper and have arrived at a couple of alternatives.

1) Imbued by the spirit of "bodhi" I am striving to fulfill that destiny

OR

2) The path of the "bodhi" is being enlightened to me so that I might change my kharma.

I can't decide if these two paths are mutually exclusive or complimentary - no doubt some combination, as enlightenment is rarely straightforward and uncomplicated by corollary issues. So if I am finding myself in similar and recurring situations, can I conclude that those situations are the fulfillment of my "bodhi" destiny or the chances to make change?

And Who Said Out-sourcing was All Bad...

Middle management email catfight from Indian tech firm With hope that phrases like "I will do needful" and "I have money and muscle power to FUCK you in your back side" will become as beloved as AllYourBase excerpts, I present to you the email thread known as "Indian Techie Flamewar." A few choice Engrish zingers:

* Yes my English is weak, that’s why I worked in Sentient under cheap person like you. But write now I have learned English especially for writing this mail. Mr. Rishi you are cheap person like Dog.

* Sentient has the money and muscle power to FUCK you in your back side so hard that your generations to come will be born defunct just the way you are mentally sick & defunct.

* This shows you are mad .because you always FUCK in back side. But if you want to learn How to fuck in front side contact me.

* as per me none are honest and I have every bludy right to complain

* I am WARNING you if you send another email to any Sentient personnel I will do needful.

* GOD WILL PUNISH YOU. Link (thanks, Numair!)

More Like This!

Someone discovered my blog... Go visit him and see the life of which I have only dreamt.

Middle English Spoken Here

Amazing how we remember weird things... when I was in highschool, we had to memorize and recite the first portion of the prologue to Chaucer's "Canterbury Tales." Easy enough you say! However, let's throw in that you have to say it not in Modern English, but in Middle English - a pony of a much different color indeed. (readings available to the priviledged few)


Whan that Aprill, with his shoures soote
The droghte of March hath perced to the roote
And bathed every veyne in swich licour,
Of which vertu engendred is the flour;

Whan Zephirus eek with his sweete breeth
Inspired hath in every holt and heeth
The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne
Hath in the Ram his halfe cours yronne,
And smale foweles maken melodye,

That slepen al the nyght with open eye-
(So priketh hem Nature in hir corages);
Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages
And palmeres for to seken straunge strondes
To ferne halwes, kowthe in sondry londes;

And specially from every shires ende
Of Engelond, to Caunterbury they wende,
The hooly blisful martir for to seke
That hem hath holpen, whan that they were seeke.

Must be the Season...

Re-doings are a-foot. Perhaps something about the harvest season, or the passing into the dulcet autumnal tones of fall makes folks want to replenish, refurbish, e-constitute. I, for one, have a new tile floor (Oh, Joy of Joys!). Hence, new furniture placement, new art organization, new room sense.

Maybe even a new position!

Do We Ever Learn??

We talk of change, of becoming different, better, more self-actualized humans; but in our very essence do we, can we, change? Our nature is to become comfortable, content and static; fearing and avoiding change, minute or otherwise. We loudly bray our new-found knowledge and insight when struck with adversity or epiphany and yet does the core ever evolve? How limited are we by our genetic inherent heritage?

True evolution cannot exist in the individual, the single, the "one" state. Its elegance lies in the fact that there must be different and alternate, opposite and complimentary, commingling input to effect change, evolution, true morphing... so what we change is the phenotype, the expression, the outward appearance but that is not reliable, can only be upheld for discreet periods until the essence re-emerges as the un-evolved genotype.

Modification is what we mean, awareness and communication are the purveyors of the intent.

The Ephemeral Process

It's not really a plan like a CEO might forge, or a defense attorney might lay out. More of a gist, suggestion or vague waving-hand direction - that's more like my plans. And what's more, it's perfectly legal from a psychological and moral standpoint, as well as a personal goals standpoint, to operate in such a gossamer way. Often folks tsk, tsk and turn their collective noses up at the mere hint of fate, destiny or metaphysics, nonetheless they are functional aspects of existence. Whether we choose to focus on the banal, logical parameters set out for us by the "E"-stablishment gurus, follow our gutsy internal promptings, or whip up a concoction of both that sets us on the path, each of us has an infrastructure that predisposes one to certain kinds of modi operandae.

Obviously I am of the more intangible ilk, else why would I be posting as such, and find myself surrounded by micro-managing logical types that view progress and success in terms of a very defined yardstick. No sense trying to convince these slaves to paper that other modes can be just as productive, and infinitely more alluring in their diaphony (word??).

Ahhhhh... Readable again

After fiddly-diddlying with my template for a day and 1/2, I have finally got the body to squat nicely beside the sidebar - no fighting, you two!! Anywho, after that dismaying foray into the unknown (and now just mostly unknown) territory of page code, I can get back to the esoteric business of posting.

More genius from HBO originals...

Titus Pullo says to the Madame, "...and she should fuck him like Helen of Troy with her ass on fire!"

Brilliant!!!!

Japan Dolphin Day

This is one of those causes that goes beyond the animal... an indication of the wholesale ignorance and inhumanity that surrounds us.

http://www.earthisland.org/saveTaijiDolphins/japanDolphinDay.html

Squidley Didley

Now THIS is news!! Being that I am enamored of all things oceanic and my user id is "sydsquid", I find this particularly apropos. How absolutely brilliant that this cephalopod has managed to ellude us for so long, circumventing the vagaries of humans.

Bravo, Architeuthus!!!

Looney Tunes

After a year, I've left off the looney pills. Yes, discarded them brashly in hopes of regaining my muse and coping without serotonin intervention. Reality is - when your head is quite wonky, a shot of psyche equilibrium is certainly required, but when balance is restored and a modicum of normalcy (verbotten, I tell you!) stays around, habits can be re-formed, re-worked, re-invented and then the looney pills only serve to induce depression. Normal people depression, nevertheless a malaise that inhibits lively function, masks true interest and quells needful anxiety.

Ah, the mystery of the next corner is rekindled...

Like-able vs. Love-able

In a previous post, I whined about my inability to inspire passion, devotion, or adoration in the men that briefly flit through my dating life. On any given day, my lackluster capabilities in this department burble quietly through the small back-waters of my mind barely perceptible amongst the welter of other insecurities and concerns. However, occassionally circumstances and insensitivity connive to turn my usually quiet spring into a raoring, leaping Niagra that will not be denied. Rarely am I blind-sided by it, and its tumult subsides with amazing alacrity; but the poignany, the piquancy grows stronger with each repetition as I grow older, resolving and embracing my self-awareness, and the hands of my romance clock speed through their circuit with ever increasing insistency.

Your Cheese Will Be Waiting

A mere two years ago over seriously mulled Christmas wine and generous cups of Evelyn's Killer Eggnog, I threatened to compile my poetry into a retrospective with witty, superiorly intelligent prose and commentary. As with most wanna-be writers, the planets have colluded in preventing me from getting on with this epic. However, just this day, another chapter took form in my "book closet" and I give all the credit to my inadvertently clever Mum.

This chapter is all yours, Mom. I'll let y fans know when the momentous occassion arrives... you will all be instructed to proceed to your nearest Amazon (funny, that once was a nickname) or Borders to procure the most delicious tome of our times.

Am I the only one...

who is exhausted by the continuous braying of the politico-racist complex about the mistreatment of the mass of humanity caught in the wake of Katrina?? My tax dollars have been applied to the subsidization of the procreating miasma of non-working folk choosing to live in sub-oceanic NOLA and now I am begged to give willingly to those who chose to sit the torment. Is there a picture of unwary, innocent victim that I am unable to see?

This foments more anti-establishment, republican (in the TRUE Texan sense of the word) fervor on my behalf. Oh, if I were to have my moment in the sun, or perhaps win a multi-billion dollar lottery, that small Caribbean empire would be SO mine!!

Well, DUH!!!!!!!!!!!

Is it really plausible that sheep, goats and cows canoodled and decided that it would be best to infect humans with TSE's??? NO!!!!! It was spawned by humans and we will suffer the consequences of our arrogance and ignorance.

Go ORGANIC, I tell you!!!

Charmed, I'm sure...

There are some women who have the ability to enrapture men. Specifically my Mom, but not limited to her. I've always wondered if it was pheromonal, chemical, social - just what combination of criteria make for irresistibility? Over the course of my mating life, I have been described as "intimidating", "overpowering", and a "firecracker" but never "alluring", "exceptional", or "entrancing".

Have You Ever...

had the feeling that knowledge just aggregates in the brain and all you have to do to utilize it is awaken it with a little prodding? I took my Stats final two nights ago... I don't know about the rest of you, but I have pretty much forgotten all my graduate level stats except for p-values and ANOVA's which really don't matter much unless you know how to interprete them and use them in a sentence, er... equation. And where am I going with this drivel?

After attending the INSC 60013 intro class, I somehow skipped every class until the mid-term, which I took and have no idea how I did but suspect it was miserable, then conducted some psychological self-flagellation for my sloth. Convinced that I would now walk the straight and narrow path to Statistical and Graduate excellence, I awaited the second half of the summer session with renewed expectation. Evening classes came and went and there I sat on my couch, in my bed, out in the park, any place but Smith Hall. And finally, a mere two classes before the final, I pin-pointed my lack of drive... I had normal people depression. Mmmm - weird.

But how was I to rectify this class thing? Too late too drop, too ashamed to attend class, too proud to confess. A brief communique to the prof assured me that no harm done, just finish the requirements. The day, Yes, the DAY of the final, I started to study. 18 Chapters of finance statistics to absorb in 6 hours.

And guess what? I feel quite certain I did.

Nocturnes

The bedroom was beautiful - large, high bed; thick, wooly rugs; dim lights and candles softly glowing. I was struggling to hide the evidence of Steve's visit, cigarette ashes carelessly flicked on the old plank floor, cooled wax. The party would be starting soon and I hadn't even gotten the decorations for the spiral staircase that the kids would use as a play area. Of course the booze was already awaiting the arrival of the costumed guests. As I rushed over to the adjoining complex, I saw that Mom had already done the decorating... all was in readiness.

Suddenly I was in the midst of our party, children clambering, adults marvelling at the interior decor and gushing over my Mom. I felt alone, small and silly. I wanted to shout about my achievements, my successes, my talents, but I knew it would all fall on deaf and charmed ears. After most of the revellers retired for the night and I was a bit high on the booze and my self-righteousness, I cornered my Mom. Intensely, but not loudly, I reminded her that I was valuable, not like one of her turn of the century chintz plates but as a person, a daughter and an individual. She wept but I remained arid. Maybe I had gotten my point across.

An Indian friend noticed our exchange and soflty approached. She invited us to her house for the following day to relax with her large family in their new home. As we arrived she offered us warm chai tea and calmed our frazzled emotions with her soothing banter. Feathers were smoothed and accusations were withdrawn, status quo regained.

While wandering the house I noticed a new ability to move objects, make them appear and disappear, happening only when I wasn't concentrating or wishing but when I just knew it should happen. Each time I used this gift, it grew, becoming easier and more bold. I went outside to play with the dog, throwing a stick and making it disappear/reappear to the dismay of the Lab. I conjured simple things, natural things, things that might be there anyway. Delighted with my treasure, I returned inside to make the ice cubes in drinks appear and vanish. No one seemed to notice.

Later that evening I went out and was delighted when I was approached by Matt Damon and Ben Afleck, the younger versions just off their success with "Good Will Hunting". Ben already had the beginnings of the swagger that would wear thin with fans and keep him in sub-par movies, but Matt still radiated that innocent intensity. Ben had a brazen dark girl on his arm and Matt asked me to join them back to their hotel. First we stopped at a manufacturing plant, laser-machined parts and other metal fabrications were the products made there. Matt demonstrated his skill with a precision metal laser while I watched with fascination. Ben and his woman squirmed in the dark corner urging us to hurry up.

Arriving at their hotel, a grand Las Vegas style affair, we headed up to the penthouse suites. The other couple practically engaged before the locks and doors were thrown. Matt and I retired to his rooms and our encounter was slow, sweet and delicious. He revelled in my experience and I was overcome with his youth and energy - the fit was perfect. While we lay together. Matt confided to me that he thought Ben was somehow spying for the Russians and sending the information from the fabrication plant to their government, but he couldn't be sure how the information was being gathered. He asked me if I would spend some time alone with Ben, try to suss out the means for the deception. God, I would do anything for Matt's angelic face!

Wouldn't you know, Ben was carrying around a small Russian spy, named Fyodor, in his navel.

Alta Y Baja

A couple of years ago my Grandmother gave me some stock for Christmas. Since then I have set up a little portfolio, watched it anxiously as it quivered and quavered with the whims of the NYSE. However, before I started all this MBA nonsense I was only concerned with the bottom line - How much is this stuff worth?? Ho, Ho,... but now that I am all the wiser in matters of Financial Reporting and the like, the rhyme is starting to jive with the reason. So, last week when my little pieces of paper started climbing the heights, I chortled with delight, but was gradnly dismayed when it took a nosedive based on the slightly revised quarterly earnings.

Ah, that fickle market, how it yanky my midas desires to and fro.

Anti-Evolution

A never-ending supply of stories to further my conviction that a separatist, elitist existence is the only way to avoid the insanity.

What's wrong with this picture?

I'm sorry, but this is just wrong. Yet another vivid example of the dysfunctional standards we live by today and how they circumvent the natural order.

Death of Creativity...

The psychotropics killed my "juice", or at least forced it cowering into a darkened cob-webby place. Last year, when I started this blog, there was depression, emotional trauma and re-evaluation, aborted bliss, and submission to vice. Those posts seem eons more creative than the blather I paste on here of late. The only time I feel the "juice" percolating is late at night in those furry moments twixt slumber and conscience, stirring restlessly around the edges of cognizance and probing tentatively at the caged volatility imprisoned by a serotonin task master.

In deference to the sanity of family, hearth and MBA, I will continue to obey the commands of my chemical jailers until such time as I can release the "juice" to wreak havoc with my liver, lungs and psyche producing sublime and quixotic verse. How I long for the rush of expressions fighting to be first to the nib... Mmmmm but the price is high.

Memory Lane

Lately it seems that I have had the pleasure of taking a stroll down the byways of my memories. Navigating the sulci and gyri of my past populated with the aromas, colors and catch phrases of loves long gone, it used to be that this particular avenue was barricaded with large orange "detour" signs posted for no through traffic. Until recently, a mere peek down that lane elicited self-doubt, questions of worth and meaningless idiot loops of why's.

For some reason or other, recently the ban seems to have been lifted and I have tentatively swung onto this path for a few forays into the gardens of my loves lost. No pain, no doubt, no struggle accompanies me here, just the lovely remembrances.

God, I hope this doesn't signal maturity...

Disbelief

paralyzed - abject gawping, staring, and absolute disgust. There are no words for this:

shithead

and please realize this is not an isolated incident. And, furthermore, I am not limiting myself to complete revulsion only with regard to heinous bird atrocities, but squirm with real pain when ANY animal is subjected to the wanton and spurious actions of humans.

Liofe Hasppens...

or, "Life Happens". How do you maintain the desire?? The desire to write every little brain blip, every little postulate, every little nebulous observation...

What started as a venue for a recovering pessimist and depressive, a quiet non-judgmental place to rant, to expound, to forgive my self and others, now seems to be rather a small monkey(marmoset-like as I see it in my mind's eye) chattering in my wee ear about all the things I haven't written. And when I do get here, it all seems so mundane, these letters and words that spill from my digits.

My poetry is on hiatus and my dreams are on overdrive, but so tenuous that I can grasp only the faintest tendrils - France (Louis XIV), even now they slip seductively into my subconscious only to resurface during the interplay of shadow and REM. School sucks the intellectual fire from my conversation, and challenges my esteem in the face of barely 20's langorously sporting success like a well-worn Polo while I still struggle with my meaning, my purpose.

Fortunately it's not all grey... I have an other who I am finally beginning to appreciate and for whom I feel true fondness. Birds and dogs are my mainstay, preening my eyelashes, nostrils and eyebrows with ferocious determination and accuracy. Rallying to my side for daily walks and affirmation, riding my shirt like adrenalin junky mountaineers, and tempting me to expose my softest parts despite the risk of pain.

In the Bag

Another hellacious mid-term in the bag. This accounting stuff, financial analysis, is not rocket science, but when you throw an undergrad degree plan and a 15-week grad semester at me in the space of 6 measly weeks, I may have slight difficulty. The first mid-term was disastrous - low C on that one. Last night's foray into the realms of A/R, Inventory, PPE, Issue price of Bonds, MB values and other odd miscellany was enough to make me weep. I felt confident as I left the class, however, this morning I am feeling not-so-confident.

I'm a good test-taker. This is shaking my fragile little world.

Pinky Things

Pics of the offending pinky, now not so threatening and seems to have lost the attention of family and friends. Medical problems are so boring if they are not your own.

Indian Love

Bird Mart this May was chock full of Green Cheeks and Moluccans, but luckily I happed into a lovely bearded gentleman looking for a male ringneck. I was looking for a female. So, we saw a pair and split the difference.

Now Sterling, my randy ringneck, can refrain from flogging his flamingo and has a lovely wife, Jessie. And, soon I hope I will be hearing the pitter-pat of little birdie feet. (I promise I will update with new photos soon... No, really, I will! I'm not kidding. It's gonna happen... start holding your breath now)

Star Light, Star Bright...

For one measly day I would love to experience the high of manipulating the psyche, soma and selective reasoning of the public at large (as opposed to the large public). Recently I had the honor of visiting the "No. 1" vascular surgeon in DFW, who proceeded to spend all of 20 minutes with the now not-so-blue pinky, subject me to sonogram, doppler and finger cuffs, only to relay the diagnosis equivalent to "I dunno." On the basis of that, he recommended an echo-cardiogram - simple enough. Checked in with his upstairscardiology group and sent me to their office to powwow with their "No. 1" cardiologist. I signed in and confirmed that I would be seeing Dr. Carry. After 20 minutes I reconfirmed that I would be meeting personally with Dr. Carry, and the receptionist was firm that it would be just a minute. A mere 1 hour and 20 minutes later, I was called sweetly through the magic door and was greeted glibly by Dr. Carry. I bluntly asked if it was standard procedure to keep patiemts waiting for up to two hours. She hemmed and hawed, justified the wait by explaining that I was a "work-in" and as I escalated my inquiries and ejaculations (no pejoratives, mind you), she now-nowed, there-thered me to my utter dishevelment.

I stormed out uttering incoherencies and gesticulating wildly, all the time trying to prevent tears of anger and frustration from slipping out and giving away my emotional discomfiture. Upon reaching the safe haven of my car, I wept and hiccoughed, jerked and spasmed until I could get enough air to call Dr. Pearl. After repeated unsatisfying jockies with his office manager, he finally came on the line and queried me in a sweet "I'm-talking-to-an-hysterical-person" voice, and he was right. I had lost my senses - left without my staggering command of grammar and a devastating vocabulary, I could only whimper ineffectual commentary as to inefficiency and indiscretion. So, now, not only was I angry and frustrated but I was muted by my own inflated emotion.

Without any additional information being imparted as to my health and/or well-being, these "professionals" managed to squander a full day of my valuable time, several hours of my precious mental health, and all of my sanguine goodwill. Yes, yes... I know what you are saying... I let them frappe me into this state, but wouldn't anyone be incensed?? If you aren't, you should get that way. Doctors have challenged even the most stoic and forgiving with their inattention and unconcern for the time and trust of their patients.

OK, so they spent seven years in school preparing to wrangle the vicissitudes of the human body, they got divorced, ignored their children and wives, and bowed in obeisance to the medical powers that be, but does that negate the necessity of continuing to be human? I say, let's take our bodies into our own hands, use the vast sources of imformation available to us and begin to know ourselves so that we can begin the process of diagnosis and treatment withou the intervention of a medical automaton who pilfers our pockets for his ski trips to Vail.

Patient, Heal Thyself!

As I watched the grayscale monitor, the thin wire coasted gracefully across the charcoal duskiness of my lumbar vertebrae before merging onto my large thoracic thru-way. "More thrust!" I said to myself in a silly Scotts accent and a larger catheter magically appeared on the screen. This new and improved rooter ascended my torso and arched gracefully over my aorta. I talked and burbled happily aware of my pharmaceutical phaerie gliding gently in and around inquiring gently as to my comfort. Everyone should have one of these anxiolytic angels to soothe and assuage nerves gone awry, stomachs gone floppsy, and arteries repelling invaders. I wondered when they would use the big rubber mallet...

Dr. Day, (after recovering from my nauseated greeting) explained the next series of events as he tapped and wiggled my femoral cannula, Long Hair banged the dye reservoir heartily and Eagle Eye confirmed the absence of naughty invasive bubbles. Somehow visions of a well-used but restorable classic car came to mind as I listened to the bangs and rattles, grunts and assertions.

All of this for the "blue pinky". One whole day spent in the confines of Baylor Medical, finger refusing to be even slightly bluish, to discover that my radial artery (sinister) is completely blocked, jammed up, occluded to the hilt for no apparent reason. Dr. Day asked if I had been using my arm as a tool or deadly weapon to which I cordially responded in the negative, internally wondering if he was altogether a twit or still reeling from my gastric salutation. Indeed, I often wield my arm in a threatening manner, and have offered it's services to many a construction worker as substitute for some pneumatic device, but never, in my wildest imaginings, thought this could be harmful to the delicate underpinnings of my vascula. Git!!

Dr. Pearle will be inspecting me next and the wonders of a thrombosis may be revealed. Stay tuned for vastly amazing and enchanting pictures of the "blue pinky" itself, and if we are lucky, the radiographies.

Follow up to Cruelty

I love animals dearly but this is just too funny (similar to the penguin thing).

Cruelty Free

My brother, Dolph, told me to go to this site. Happily, it doesn't condemn meat eaters but offers simple solutions to finding quality food products with which one can be guilt free. Our family is completely invested in this concept - our meats come from Burgundy Pasture beef and our eggs come from a local woman who has chickens in her yard. We were never intended to be strictly vegetarian, however we have propogated generations of humans who believe it is their right to consume massive quantities of flesh in order to feed the consumerism that is leading us down the path to self destruction. Contrary to the beliefs of zealots and the misguided, humans are not the pinnacle of the animal kingdom and are not entitled to abuse, neglect and otherwise harm fellow species at will.

So, eat your meat or you won't get any pudding... just make sure you are raising your own or purchasing from someone who holds life tenderly and dearly.

This is becoming alarming

Yet another in a string of cetacean strandings and deaths this spring. What does this say about our earth and about us???

Body Stuff

It's small, blue and tingly. My pinky finger, I mean. For the last two days, perhaps three, the pinky finger (5th phalange sinister to be exact) of my left hand has been numb, with a cyanotic nail bed and cold. Every now and then I see this little seemingly dead thing waving around down there and I give it a rub and squeeze to move the blood back and forth, but it never seems to really "wake up". It makes me wonder what may be going on... just curious, not alarmed, as it still seems to function when called upon. Previous to the "pinky thing", the thumb on the same hand had been experiencing some soreness on the pad, similar to a deep bruise or bone bruise, making it quite tender to perform such simple operations as opening the car door - my latch has a button that you have to push. And, just the morning of the "pinky thing", I felt a sharp pain in the offending phalange stemming from no apparent provocation.

As of today, the thumb seems to be better, the pinky continues to be obstinate and the wrist has gotten into the action. It now feels as if one of the small, pebble-shaped wrist bones has become dislodged and is creating a feeling of "not-quite-right" - ness. I've twisted, turned, massaged and pulled to no effect.

Only 40 and already falling apart!

Damn Technology

OK, I got all motivated and wrote something the other day. Something really exquisite, amazing and esoteric... I will never be able to re-create it and it probably would have made me real famous, but this damn posting blogger thing just tossed it aside like so much gutter detritus. Bastards!

Actually, I have quite a bit to post about, however this whole grad school thing, as I have mentioned before, is cutting to the quick of my social and private time. Project this, paper that, cohort meeting there, final here... blah, blah, blah. Not to mention that it is stifling my creativity. But I will bravely thump along. I purchased my first digital camera and have cleverly left it sitting on my bar where it will read my thoughts, leap to task and whirl madly about the metroplex snapping shots of the bizarre, unheard of, and awesome. (I haven't even gotten a good photo of the Twins with it yet. Oh, I am so lame.)

Anywho, shortly, I will be regaling my distinct, if microscopic, audience with my own myopic visions of nature, self and family. Beware!

Coffee Klastch (?)

philosophy

"As a human being, you have no choice about the fact that you need a philosophy. Your only choice is whether you define your philosophy by a conscious, rational, disciplined process of thought and scrupulously logical deliberation - or let your subconscious accumulate a junk heap of unwarranted conclusions, false generalizations, undefined contradictions, undigested slogans, unidentified wishes, doubts and fears, thrown together by chance, but integrated by your subconscious into a kind of mongrel philosophy and fused into a single, solid weight: self-doubt, like a ball and chain in the place where your mind's wings should have grown." -

Ayn Rand, 1982

Compresssion

A good friend once malapropped that he felt "compressed". Not so ludicrous when you realize he meant that he was depressed. Loathe to explain for the maddening averages/normals, I comment that I am compressed today. Only slightly, and for no apparent or immediate reason - steadily on the looney pills, no crises imminent - all is status quo in the house of sYd. Nevertheless, I am experiencing a malaise coupled with a disquieting desire to weep for no reason.

Maybe it's the normalcy of it all. Mom states that I am an adrenalin junkie which I equate with insane spills from cliffs wearing only a bandana, a wetsuit filled with fillets and a quick splash with great whites, etc., not with the mild thrills that seem to crop up in my daily rounds. But she may have a point. This continuing subtlety of life may be compressing my adrenalin jones and resulting in this feeling of not-quite-enough.

Addendum to the Coyote

As a member of the yahoo groups Bird Hobbyist and 9-1-1 Parrot Alert, I am the joyful recipient of scads, oodles and virtual mountains of bird "stuff". Usually I browse and delete unless there is something of grand interest. Today's digest contained an heading, "Celebrity Birds". Piqued, I scrolled down to find that the celebrities were the hawks in New York City and a pair of barn owls with two, count them, TWO! nest cams. (BTW, www.palemale.com & www.theowlcam.com )

OK - I'm all about nature, but this has me vexed. Yes, yes, let's make sure that in this urban, people infested world children can access the bird cams and learn about species that they may not ever, EVER encounter in their "natural" lives... which brings up the opposing position, why are we accessing a virtual world to learn about animals, places, things in general that we should be able to walk out of doors and capture with our own eyes. I can get very frothy about this subject, but it usually turns people off and all sorts of argument ensues (unless of course you are a member of the elite few intellectuals who agrees with me..YeeHaw!).

Bottom line: If we could manage our resources and greed in a more moderate way, we might all be privy to the majesty that is our natural world without resorting to a "virtual" world.

Nature Lover

We rounded the corner of the running track in Quannah Parker park and much to my amazement, I spotted a coyote - a BIG one- hunting in the field. Yippee was the first to notice the motionless canine, watching and waiting to pounce upon some unsuspecting vole. He quivered with anticipation. As soon as the coyote scored his little rodent treat, Yippee leapt to full speed and was after his distant relative, just closing the gap as the hunter fled into the forest. I was stunned. A coyote, at 1:30 in the afternoon, on a bright and delightful Sunday. A Mummy, I supposed. Perhaps rustling up the grub for her early pups. Yippee was disappointed that his attempts at contact were not met with more enthusiasm, and Dittles gallumphed behind wondering what all the excitement was, as she couldn't see over the ruined brown winter grasses. Chelsea, our little birder, snubbed the chase as far too banal - fowl were much more challenging as well as good eating.

I hate living in all this urbanity where the sight of mating hawks and feeding coyotes is a rarity. I'm ready for the farm, Jed!

Mid-Term #2

Completed.

Three hours of self-editing prose now submitted with no recourse.

This is grad school.

Well... It's about time!

I was scared that if I wrote about this, it would all vanish in a POOF! of djinn smoke. However, after 4 months (lunar, that is) I guess I should introduce you to MrTuck.

Despairing of ever meeting someone with my own quirky interests, superior intelligence and prose skills, and a true gentleman; I posted an incredibly flippant profile on Match.com as a farewell flip-off. Lo, and Behold!, 24 hours after posting, I receive a flippant response... and the game was on. Perhaps I had niggled the Fates just enough for my thread to be loosed to the karmic winds. Maybe I just gave up, let go, and what I wanted came right back to me.

Happy, Happy... Joy, Joy!!!

Dillying & Dallying

No, not dead. Although I suspect that for the few, very few, who visit my blog, there was little if any concern. And, since I considered this initially a publicly private space for my own bizarreness, I'll just carry on with that in mind.

To recap:

looks as if I haven't posted since Spuper-Bowl. A delightful time was had by all and the custard-y key lime pie looked rather snotty, but tasted just fine. Since then it's been mad dashes to school, work, parents' house, Mr. Tuck's abode and too brief encounters with my pillow.

I was whisked away to New Orleans for valentine's weekend and ate myself into a stupor. I was pregnant with hollandaise, wine and the thrill of cajun environs. The few viewable pictures taken can be seen here.

There have been other thoughts, observations and ramblings that I have been pondering, but I will torture you by stringing them out over the next several posts.

Ciao!

Knows and Knows-Not...

Spuper-Bowl Sunday was typical. Frends arrived, friends hugged, other friends arrived later, food was plentiful... icky queso, guac, chicken fried steak revived from my Grand-Dad's skillet, Key Lime pie lifted from my Mom (my version was a bit custard-y), and discussion was rife. I still marvel at the fact that one of my bestest friends is so incredibly intelligent (stats, trivia, general knowledge [ and if he is reading, yes, you most always beat me at Triv]), but clings to a creationist faith while working in a scientific venue. Now, we all have our dicotomies and I guess at base the conflict twixt Creationism vs. Evolutionism seems a valid argument. I disagree... vehemently.

What we have here (and he'll appreciate this) is a mock battle of Faith vs. Science. Creationism, tautologically speaking, is a faith-based belief, while Evolution is a scientific theory. The two are not, let me repeat, NOT comparable. How so you ask...or shriek?? Fact is folks, one is independent of the other and ne'er the twain shall meet 'cause it is just not proselytized. What I mean to impart is that the age-old dilemma of Hominid vs. Adam just doesn't hold water 'cause they are two different disciplines. There should no more be animosity between "C" and "E" than there should be between... well, there are two no more disparate subjects than these. Hence the immense controversy. "What we have here is a failure to communicate"... a basic inability to acknowledge the right of each to his own.

AND, by virtue of that, an inability to accept our fellow human (in all his evolutionary divinity, or divine evolution) as just that... a FELLOW. MMMmmmmmm, we fail miserably as a global community to realize that it is not how we came to be, but how we ARE that will shape our now.

It's just a thought...

Is Cancer Better?

As a last ditch effort to treat the ongoing skin rash (2 years) that has been plaguing my hands and now my body, my doctor has prescribed this...

Bars and Measures

Last night I attended the symphony - the program was Handel's "Water Music", followed by a Bruch violin concerto accompanied by a young mistress of the fiddle, and post intermission, the Symphony No. 2 by Elgar. The Handel was a delightful way to start. Lilting and light, it wafted through the Meyerson Hall inspring thoughts of drifting down the Thames in Edwardian barges amongst royalty. A short piece, it was said to have been requested by George I to be played three times during his day's seafaring.

Bruch's violin concerto, an exceptionally emotional piece, was performed the our guest, Leila Josefawiscz (sp? - trying to do it from memory). What an interesting bit of physiognomy she was - small, wonderfully shaped head complete with pert nose, a moue of a mouth and sandy blond shaggy hair; however, continuing to her body, things changed radically. Athletic and rugged, she stood and played with legs splayed, body jerking with the effort of extracting the whines from her instrument, but a very masculine morphology. And then to her hands, delicate, fluttering and gracile, they danced the bow across the strings at times with vivd ferocity, at others with lithesome tenderness. Not only did her expressions mimic the varied emotional scale of the composition, but her morphology was a physical representation of the range in tone of the music. Very interesting.

Unfortunately, the second half was a wild and busy piece of which I could not catch a string to tow me through its swirling melodies. The crowd fidgeted as the piece crescendo-ed and receded, awaiting the finale to this long and demanding aural spectacle. At last the final squeak was drawn from the bows and we were relieved.

Always in Threes...

Isn't that what geriatrics say about events? You know, those events that are usually so stunning you are left, ears bleeding, lying in the aisle of your life and no one to help you to the emergency clinic??

I just had a "three". Shame, devastation, re-evaluation of all that has come before and all that may come after. Reeling with mental mortification and spiritual flagellation, I am spent. And, nothing but good ol' reliable, steady and measurable time will heal these wounds. I want to prove myself now. To be re-affirmed of my commitment to a better me... but patience must prevail. That commodity of which I am so distractingly short.

I hate waiting.